


Looks like there's just one bed left ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

by fractalsinthesky



Series: flint and tinder [4]
Category: Far Cry 5
Genre: Gen, Sharing a Bed, nonbinary deputy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-25
Updated: 2018-12-25
Packaged: 2019-09-26 20:40:47
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,991
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17148746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/fractalsinthesky/pseuds/fractalsinthesky
Summary: Dep and the gang need a place to stay the night, but there's only two beds available, and Hurk doesn't feel like sharing. That's it. Just wanted to do something short and tropey and cutesy, really, and to try my hand at writing Hurk.





	Looks like there's just one bed left ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

In the valley they’d been safe enough spending nights in abandoned homes—as long as they kept the lights off and bunked down in a room without windows, no patrols would reenter the houses they’d already ransacked. Across the Henbane, the weather had been temperate enough and the cougars stuck mostly to high elevations, so they’d been able to camp out under the stars when safehouses were few and far between. When they’d ventured up into Jacob’s territory, though, the threat of wandering Chosen and their Judges was too great to risk sleeping without keeping watch, and the nights were too cold to spend in cabins without firing up noisy gennies or setting a fire that would give away their position.

“Shit,” said Rook, shivering and hugging their jacket tighter to them, eyeing the blackening treetops that the sun had just disappeared behind. “How far are we from your place, Hurk?”

“‘Bout a ten minute drive, I guess,” he shrugged, scratching his chest through the stained red tank. “I mean, unless you wanna go off-roadin’, in which case it’d be more like, uh, anywhere from five to thirty. This one time, I was doin’ some totally wicked ATV stunts out with Craig? An’ we ended up bustin’ our rides an’ gettin’ lost on the way back, and I caught all kinds of hell from Daddy ‘bout ‘havin’ respect for expensive property’ and ‘the laws of nature’ an’ shit like that. Took me about forty-seven minutes that time. But if you wanna stay on the roads, it should be round about ten minutes.”

“Don’t he make you sleep outside anyway?” asked Sharky, pulling his hood up over his cap and scowling. “Listen I know he’s your pa an’ all, but that dude is mean as hell. He’s got a goddamn two story house, plus a basement. That’s like three whole stories, an’ he hogs it all to himself.”

“Sharky—you’re my favorite little cousin an’ I got a lot of love for you an’ everything, but my Daddy says what he didn’t lose in the divorce, only God can take from him, an’ that includes his personal space,” chided Hurk. “Yeah, he may be a little irritable, and maybe he ain’t that diligent ‘bout stuff like hanging out with ya or listenin’ to your stories or sayin’ he loves you, but the man’s been through a lot!”

“Okay, okay, Hurk—we aren’t going to your place,” rushed Rook, stepping between the two. Hurk Sr. was a topic of actual contention between their friends, and conversations verging into that territory often resulted in spats loud enough to draw fire. Definitely not a good idea with night falling. “Listen, we’ll just use one of those bunkers, alright? But we gotta move, ‘cause it’s getting dark and I’m pretty sure I just stepped in bear shit.”

“I swear there was one, uh, back at the gas station,” Sharky said, jerking a thumb over his shoulder. He was still giving Hurk a stinkeye, but the big guy was too busy picking at a scab on his elbow to notice. Dep picked their way over a fallen log, coming down unsteadily and just happening to bump into him before he reopened the ‘Hurk Sr.’ can of worms.

He huffed in surprise, clapping an arm around their back to steady them. “Smooth move, shorty—you good?”

“Yeah, just gettin’ hard to see,” they said, grinning up at him and elbowing his gut. “Get movin’ or I let the wolves eat your butt.”

“Psh, tell me another one,” he snorted, tramping through the bush at their side. “Listen, this butt is the fuckin’ cornerstone of the Resistance—my ass goes down and the Peggies win.”

“That’s it, man, know your worth,” said Hurk encouragingly, tackling the steep hill face ahead. His rocket launcher slipped over his back, dragging his tank up while his sweatpants fell. The Cheshire grin of his back fat glowed in the darkness, a crescent moon widening to disturbing fulness as he struggled.

“Okay, okay Sharky,” Dep relented, averting their gaze. “I won’t let the wolves snack on your butt, but we really gotta get goin’, ya’ll.”

“Y’don’t see me goin’ here, babe?” panted Hurk, hauling himself up the slope by grabbing onto saplings and taking fistfuls of loam. 

“Since when d’you call them ‘babe’?” snapped Sharky.

“Whu-what do you care, Sharky?” asked Hurk, voice cracking incredulously. “You call ‘em ‘shorty’ an’ shit all the time!”

“Dude, it’s fine,” said Rook, brow knitting. “I don’t mind.”

“You—it’s not, uh, too gendered or anything?” Sharky shot them an uncertain glance.

“Uh, no?” they grinned, looking at him quizzically through the gloom. “You know every time you call me ‘amigo’ or ‘chica’ those are gendered, right?”

“Shit, you serious?” He slid back down a few feet, wincing and scratching beneath the bill of his cap. “Fuck, Dep, I’m sorry—are those—d’you want me to stop using those?”

“No, it’s cool,” they shrugged, flushing. “It’s just, you know, technically. They’re inherently more gendered than ‘babe’.”

“Y’gotta brush up on your gender neutral terms of endearment, cuz,” drawled Hurk from further up, footsteps dislodging twigs and pine needles to tumble down on the other two. “I am so much woker than you, man, sometimes it hurts.”

“It’s gonna hurt when I get up there, Hurky, I tell you that,” muttered Sharky, shoulders hunched defensively as he hiked the hill.

“It’s fine,” repeated Rook, frowning. “Honest.”

“Listen, Dep, I—just gimme a list of terms that are cool, an’ I’ll—” he slipped on a patch of dead leaves, grabbing desperately at the trunk of a small pine. “Fuck. Listen, how ‘bout I make-how ‘bout I make a list of the stuff I feel like callin’ you, and, um—”

“Sharky,” they interrupted, giving his hoodie a quick, irritated jerk so he’d actually shut up. “You’ve been doing fine—stop worrying, for shit’s sake. It’s weird when you focus on it.”

“Sorry, Dep,” he said, in a small, quiet voice, and even in the growing dark Rook could tell he was avoiding making eye contact.

“Dude. Sharky?” they said more gently, ducking a little until they caught his gaze. “You’re good. Hurk’s just fucking with you. Okay?”

He nodded, and they patted his shoulder awkwardly. 

“You two slowpokes makin’ out down there or what?” hollered Hurk from the top of the hill.

Rook froze, heat crawling up their neck, the softness of Sharky’s hoodie under their palm fading as they fixated on the warmth from his skin beneath. God, the nights were getting colder and colder out here—how wonderful would it feel to snuggle up close to another person? Especially someone they trusted, someone they actually liked. They felt him staring and snatched their hand away.

“Um, sorry. ‘Ignore him’ was, uh, what I was saying, basically. Let’s find that bunker and get some sleep, yeah?”

“That’s a copy, chief. Keepin’ the peace and all that stuff. Whatever—beat you to the top!” His grin was a crooked flash of white before he launched himself at the slope, sneakers churning frantically at the loam.

Rook rolled their eyes and started up after him, picking their footing carefully. Not worth a broken ankle. They dug their toes into the soft dirt, setting their heels against the trunks of trees and bushes when they could, and going for the densest tufts of grass when they couldn’t. It wasn’t the steepest hill they’d had to climb in the past few weeks, but they tried to focus. When they stopped concentrating on the hike, their thoughts kept drifting towards stupid, obvious stuff about how solid Sharky’s shoulder had felt, and how the rest of him was probably solid too, and that he had a really nice smile.

“Stupid,” they muttered to themselves, cheeks getting hot. They must be pretty tired for this climb to be getting to them. Sharky was a good friend. He was sweet and enthusiastically supportive. Didn’t hurt that he was funny, and they’d be lying if they said they hadn’t checked out his ass once or twice. Alright, more than once or twice, but on several of those occasions he’d been pantsless and bragging about it, so that was really just being polite.

They were nearing the top, and could hear the soft hiss of suppressed arguing floating down from the crest of the hill, Hurk’s indignant whine rising enough to be intelligible. 

“—y’know I wouldn’t do that t’ya, little cuz, that’d be a hell of a dick move. D’you really think I’d be that insensitive?”

They heard the low burr of Sharky’s reply, some reluctant allowance, but couldn’t catch any of the actual words. They bit their lip, knowing they shouldn’t listen in, but glad their friends were at least making up. And if they were trying to keep quiet, it was probably important. They didn’t put much effort toward discretion for anything before—not even when asked.

“See? There you go. Don’t sweat it,” soothed Hurk, “But if you want any tips—”

“I don’t need any damn…” Sharky’s voice spiked irritably but dipped quickly back into an inscrutable hum.

The tone of their back and forth seemed calmer, and Rook decided it was safe to finish the climb. They trudged up to the top, wincing as thorns ripped through the fabric of their jeans. Hurk and Sharky were talking at the shoulder of the road, kicking small puffs of dust over the asphalt, but they stopped abruptly as Rook came into view.

Hurk grinned, tipping his head in a cheerful nod, but Sharky looked vaguely sick.

“Damn, Brotato Salad—you got lead in your boots or what? Be nice to get to sleep sometime this century, if that works for you.” 

“Just admiring the scenery,” they winked, stretching their back and groaning at the resultant pop. “Any activity?”

“Um. Uh,” Sharky rubbed the back of his neck, looking down the empty road. “Nope. ’S been pretty quiet—haven’t even heard any howling yet.”

The station’s lights were blooming behind the trees ahead and the knowledge that rest was so close made them feel the full weight of the day’s activity. Their legs complained with every step, and their rifle strap dug viciously into their shoulder. They sighed, weaving slightly as they walked, bumping shoulders companionably with Hurk and Sharky. They had no idea how Hurk wasn’t freezing in his tanktop, but the little nips he was taking from his hip flask probably helped.

“Yo, sharesies,” they chimed as he lifted it again, punching his upper arm.

“Ouch, dude,” he whined, but wiped his mouth off with the back of his hand and passed it anyway.

“Thanks, hon,” they grinned, throwing it back and taking a hearty swallow. They hadn’t really suspected sangria, but the sweetness that tempered the burn of alcohol was more than welcome. Their swinging arm bumped Sharky’s. They leaned into it, nudging him and flashing a smile. “Want some?”

“Nah, dude—not a fan of the strawberries,” he answered stiffly, waving a hand.

“You’re nuts, man, they totally elevate the flavor profile,” drawled Hurk, tapping Rook’s elbow and taking the flask back.

“Y’don’t strain the seeds, Hurky—it makes it all grainy and…gross.” Sharky trailed off, making a face. 

“It enhances the mouthfeel!” insisted Hurk, brows knitting.

“Different strokes,” said Rook gently, hooking their arms around the waists of their friends and squeezing them into a tandem hug that couldn’t be sustained beyond a few awkward lurching steps, while Hurk laughed and Sharky squirmed half-heartedly.

The station was still empty, its bright lights glaring down on the cracked pavement of the parking lot and shining off the plate glass windows. The generator shed door was left ajar from the last time they’d found it, and Rook hefted the unlocked bunker hatch open with a grunt. A quick slide down the ladder and they were back within the familiar musty air and dim but constant lighting of another prepper bunker. They didn’t remember this particular one very well. Stash raids were usually just that—boltholes they used as cover from aerial pursuit or hidden troves of resources to look over and pocket. After a while, they all tended to blur together, with the only real variations being the shelter’s structural integrity, relative tackiness of personal memorabilia, and the number of beds.

In this case, there were two.

Hurk’s boots had scarcely touched the floor before he’d thrown himself down on the nearest one, and shouting out ‘Dibs, ya’ll—called it!’ while bouncing gleefully on the thin boxsprings, producing a chorus of squeaks.

“That’s a dick move, dude,” said Rook, shaking their head and leaning against the frame of the remaining cot. They didn’t want to pull the same maneuver because that’d just be shitty, but they didn’t want to risk Sharky calling it to himself. They scanned the bunker in hopes of seeing an extra cot or a sleeping bag or something, but no joy. 

They heard the hatch slam and lock, and Sharky slid down the ladder, landing with a grunt. They flinched at the sound, staring at the twin-sized bed with its single pillow and blanket, cheeks flushing as the image of them spooning the taller man came unbidden to mind.

“We could, um, put both mattresses on the floor,” they stammered, looking to Hurk. He was grinning widely, already kicking off his shoes and snuggling in under his blanket. “All three of us? Like a sleepover?”

“Gonna be a negatory from me on that one, Ghostrider,” he said with false sympathy, hanging his bandana on the bedstand and flopping down on his side. “I’m gonna need maximum possible comfort here—since this whole cult thing kicked off, I’ve been really slackin’ off on my whole self-care routine, you feel? An’ I just think I’d be a whole lot better at blowin’ stuff up if I got some good, quality shut-eye.”

“Oh,” blurted Sharky from behind, and they turned to see that he had stopped short by the provisions rack, face red and fists twisting in his hoodie pockets as he looked at the remaining bed. “Um. I can-I can sleep on the floor if it’s a problem, Dep. I don’t wanna make you feel uncomfortable or nothin’.”

“No, no,” they protested, frowning and taking a few steps back so he wouldn’t think they were blocking him from the bed. “I don’t want you to sleep on the floor.”

“Just share it,” groaned Hurk, waving broadly in exasperation. “Y’don’t gotta do this whole song and dance. Ya’ll are just making it weirder.”

“I’m not…opposed to sharing,” said Rook, sitting on the end of the bed and kicking off their shoes. “If you’re okay with it, I mean.”

“Yeah, no—it’s whatever, dude,” shrugged Sharky, leaning against the headbar and pulling off his sneakers. “As long as you’re good with it. Full disclosure—I really don’t wanna sleep on the floor.”

“Yeah, I—” they grinned, noting the blush that had spread across his cheeks and the tips of his ears. “I said I was.”

“Good, cool, okay,” he nodded, sitting next to them and fidgeting with his hoodie’s zipper. “Uh, Dep I gotta tell you somethin’—”

“Dude, I’m gonna stop you right there, ‘cause you need to take a page outta my etiquette book,” interrupted Hurk in a stage whisper. “Even if you like sleepin’ naked, it’s not always cool around other folks! ‘Less you’re in like a nudist colony, I guess, but uh, lamentably, we are not. We’re sharin’ a space here, dude—be considerate.”

“Really not what I was gonna say, dude,” snapped Sharky, flush spreading down his neck.

Rook laughed, shucking their jacket and laying down gingerly, putting their back to the smooth coldness of the wall so they could still talk. The mattress padding was thin enough to feel the springs below, but the fabric was soft, and they could feel it warming already. It was definitely more comfortable than the last few places they’d spent the night. “So what were you gonna say?”

He looked down at them, biting his lower lip. “Nothin’, I just—I tend to sprawl out and flop around a bit while I sleep. Just wanted to warn you.”

“That’s fine,” they said, pushing the pillow over towards his side and propping their head up in their hand. “You’ve been real cool about my snoring, so. Long as you don’t hog the blanket.”

“Oh, good.” He smiled and pushed the pillow back their way, unzipping his hoodie and balling it up, putting his head down on it and nuzzling a little until he was satisfied. 

They wondered how it would feel to cup his cheek in their hand and stroke their thumb gently over his sweet smile.

“Hey Dep,” he began hesitantly, and they started guiltily, illogically certain that he’d read their mind. 

“What’s up, Shark?”

He sat up, pulling the blanket over himself and lifting it up in offering. They nodded, pulling the edge between their back and the wall. Already a lot warmer. 

“Just wanted to tell ya I respect you a lot, and I’ve been having a lot of fun goin’ around with you. Killin’ Peggies and all.” He slid an arm under his jacket bundle and swept the other up to rest on his hip, drumming his fingers. “And I think you’re cool and you kick a lot of butt, and I’d like to uh, to get, y’know. Closer?”

Closer? They grinned, chest warming, reaching over shyly. “That sounds pretty good to me.”

“Hell yes,” he breathed, straining into their touch, and they could feel his heart hammering under his ribs. 

He scooted closer, twining his feet with theirs and snaking an arm over their waist with a grin. They leaned in, pressing their body against his and tucking their head up under his chin and grinning until their cheeks hurt. So much for getting to sleep any time soon.


End file.
